Every Little Piece
by Jellicle Girl
Summary: Hermione visits the Burrow for The Wedding. Haircuts, a bachelorette party, and teary goodbyes ensue. RH, HG pairings.
1. Brown Eyed Girl

Disclaimer: Sadly, I own none of the characters or places or concepts mentioned in this fic. It belongs to J.K. Rowling and corresponding affiliates. Reviews are MUCHO appreciated.

Hermione Granger mounted the steps of the Burrow, completely unaware that a pair of blue eyes was watching her intently from a high window. She cheerfully adjusted the heavy duffel bag she had slung across her shoulder, amazed as always at the tonic-like effect the very atmosphere of the Burrow had on her. Her fluffy gingery cat, Crookshanks, mewed imploringly to be released from the cage she held in her right hand. Stooping down, she unhooked the latch of his pet carrier and watched, amused, as he darted across the lawn in pursuit of a large yellow butterfly.

She remained crouched for a moment, breathing in the fragrance of freshly-mown grass and something she thought might be buttercups. The gentle morning sun playing across her face seemed to warm her from the inside out, melting the worry she had been wearing like a burdensome garment. She smiled, a real smile, for the first time in several days.

She sighed and rose, stretching her arms and legs and yawning. It felt so good just to be outside, to be young and whole and alive. She was on the verge of rapping smartly on the front door of the Burrow when it creaked ominously open. A pale, thin hand emerged from the gap, seized Hermione's wrist, and dragged her unceremoniously inside.

"Ginny -" Hermione began in alarm, but the other girl quickly put her finger to her lips, her brown eyes widened in terror. "Ginny - what- ?"

"Shut up," Ginny moaned under her breath, beckoning toward the staircase that led to the ether rooms. "_She'll_ hear you."

Hermione followed dazedly, her concern mounting.

She placed her hand on the banister. No sooner had she done this than a shrill piercing noise sounded from the kitchen and Mrs. Weasley and Fleur Delacour stormed into the room. Both women's hands were fastened to their hips, and Hermione was alarmed to see that Mrs. Weasley's face was a brilliant magenta. "Hermione - _dear_," she said, as if she were barely restraining herself from throttling Hermione, "Fleur and I have been cleaning all day and I would appreciate it if you would keep your hands -" Hermione jerked the offending hand from the stair railing with a convulsive gesture, "off of _everything_."

"Oh, Mrs. Weasley, I'm so sorry," Hermione apologized, throwing a miserable look at Ginny. The redheaded girl was glaring in a way that clearly said, "See what you've done!"

Mrs. Weasley seemed to relax a bit, for she drew Hermione into an embrace and said, "It's all right, dear. I'm sure you meant no harm. Have you been holding up all right?"

Hermione nodded, wondering if she were telling the truth. She had been finding it difficult to eat or sleep since term had ended, and a sort of restless fatigue had lain over her, transforming what should have been restful nights into restive vigils. Deciding that it was too difficult to express these tousled feelings, she returned Mrs. Weasley's hug and forced a smile.

"I'm fine. How've you all been?"

"We're making it, dear," Mrs. Weasley said grimly. "Fleur and I have been all but preoccupied these past few days, what with the wedding and all. Oh, heavens, that reminds me! We've a soufflé in the oven. Ron's upstairs and Harry should be arriving this afternoon." Without another word, Mrs. Weasley and Fleur disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Thank god you're here," said Ginny when she was sure her mother and Fleur were out of earshot. "It's been _mad_. They've done nothing but clean and bake - and yell at people," she tacked on thoughtfully. "Perhaps they'll lighten up now that you've arrived. Fleur's having a bachelorette party tonight, you know. She's quite keen on the idea - has been ever since she found out about the one Fred and George are throwing for Bill. Seems to think it will be 'vairy amusing.'"

Hermione laughed and followed Ginny upstairs. The two girls chatted unbrokenly, discussing the type of fantastic stunts the twins likely had planned for their oldest brother's bachelor party.

"Plenty of alcohol," Ginny remarked. "I heard Fred saying they were ordering something like three kegs of fire whiskey. Mum's planning Fleur's, so it'll be butterbeers all 'round for us."

Before Hermione could reply, Ginny's brother, Ron, appeared. Bracing herself for an awkward silence, Hermione was stunned when Ron lifted her into a tight hug and whispered into her hair, "I've missed you."

"Oh," she breathed when he released her. He smiled down at her, and she wondered if he could have possibly grown in the week since she'd last seen him. She smiled at the foolish thought, but he really did look - well - larger. Perhaps it was his emotional growth that accounted for his sudden exceptionally straight shoulders and imposing posture, she mused. But all coherent thought was driven from her head when he took her hand in his. "I've missed you too," she managed. They were so close she could smell him - the same fascinating, intoxicating aroma of soap and some unidentifiable spice that he had unconsciously exuded for years. His other hand came up to rest tenderly on her cheek.

"Ahem," said a piercing voice, heedlessly shredding the misty veil that had fallen so suddenly over them. Both of them flushed brilliantly as they became aware of Ginny's presence. Ron quickly withdrew both hands and relegated them tightly to his sides, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. "Right," he said lamely. "Right - so how've you been?"

"Okay," Hermione replied slowly. "And you?"

"All right." He coughed a little awkwardly and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Been spending a lot of time in my room, you know. Sleeping. I think I needed it."

Ginny laughed a trifle bitterly. "Exhaustion's characterized this whole family since - well, since -" She broke off, and Hermione felt tears spring, unbidden, to her eyes. The ache that signified Dumbledore's absence in her life throbbed powerfully within her chest, and she attempted to push the hurt away. She couldn't afford to show even the slightest weakness. Not now, when everyone else seemed so strong.

"Right," she said, pasting on the false smile that, no matter how often she donned it, would never feel natural. "Um, I guess I should put my things away." She gestured weakly to Crookshank's carrier and her bag. "I'll be sleeping in your room, then?"

Ginny shook her head, wilting suddenly. "Mum's bloody chunked you in the guest room. _Lucky_."

"Why? I'd rather share with you."

Ginny heaved a small sigh. "I'm already bunking with Gabrielle…you know, Fleur's younger sister? She's a right pain in the arse."

Hermione nodded her comprehension, grinning a bit when she realized that Ginny had dispensed with Fleur's former, very unflattering, nickname. The redhead was clearly growing accustomed to her new sister-in-law-to-be. "Gabrielle's what, ten? Does she speak any English?"

"Her English is crap," sighed Ginny, "and she's essentially the carbon copy of Fleur. But what can you do, right? I can't exactly kick up a fuss over my new roommate when everyone's so preoccupied with…other things. C'mon, the guest room's just below the attic."

Hermione hoisted her duffle bag onto her shoulder and followed Ginny along the narrow hall. She tossed a parting glance at Ron over her shoulder. His ears were suddenly tinged with red, and Hermione couldn't suppress a rather vixenish smile. After all, flirting felt _good._

Twenty minutes later, Hermione's bags were unpacked and her few possessions had found a new home in the Weasley's guest room. It was a rather small room, shabby like the rest of the house, but it was neat and clean and smelled of lemon cleaning solvent. Ginny had sprawled herself across the crazy quilt Molly had affixed on Hermione's bed, idly picking at her fingernails. Hermione was assessing her apperance in the mirror, mentally picturing herself with a shorter, more stylish haircut. She ran an experimental hand along her lengthy curls, then sighed, turning to face Ginny.

"Should I…you know…take the plunge?"

Ginny sat up expectantly. "You mean tell Ron you love him?"

"Are you kidding?" Hermione squeaked. "God, no. I'm thinking about cutting my hair. You know, for the wedding and everything"

Comprehension dawned on Ginny's freckled face. "OH! You _totally _should. I've always thought short hair would look gorgeous on you."

Hermione flushed pleasedly, as she had always secretly harbored a similar notion. "Seriously?" Ginny nodded. "Right. Let's do it. Like, now."

"Now?" Ginny repeated incredulously. "Um, don't you think you should leave drastic haircuts to the professionals? Mum's friends with this fantastic stylist, her name's Orchid Snippet, she works out of Diagon Alley and she's done…"

"No stylists," Hermione decreed, overriding Ginny in midsentence. "I want to do it myself. With your help, of course. I mean, c'mon, Gin, how hard can it possibly be? A little snip here, a little snip there and voila: new and improved Hermione."

Ginny's eyebrows remained skeptically aloft.

Hermione sighed, touching her hair again. Suddenly, the familiar mass of bushy curls felt like a burden. If she could rid herself of these weighty locks, perhaps some of the heavy pain she was carrying inside would disappear, too. She could start afresh. She was a grown-up now, after all. Wouldn't a new, grown-up haircut aptly mark the occasion?

Hermione placed a beseeching hand on Ginny's forearm, widening her already large brown eyes to their fullest extent. "_Please?_"

Ginny sighed helplessly, powerless under Hermione's pitifully imploring gaze. "Right. Fine…I'll get Mum's shears."

Hermione grinned wildly, seizing the younger girl in a bone-crushing hug. "Brilliant."

Hermione's enthusiasm was apparently infectious, for Ginny found herself grinning wildly back. "I'll be right back."

It was over. Hermione was sitting on a spindly, three-legged stool, her back facing the mirror and her face screwed up with anticipation. Ginny held the shears aloft in one hand, her stance reminiscent of the lone perpetrator in a brutal mass murder; Hermione's bountiful locks were her unfortunate victims. Piles and piles of lush, dark hair densely carpeted the scuffed guest room floor. Another curl, an afterthought, fluttered to the wayside as Ginny casually snipped it.

"Is it over?" Hermione demanded through gritted teeth.

Ginny rumpled the short cap of hair that remained on her best friend's head, considering. "Yeah. I suppose so."

A long sigh issued through Hermione's clenched teeth. _Cleansing breaths, _she thought.

"So I can turn around?"

"Yep."

Hermione spun around on the stool, her eyes squeezed shut. "So I can open my eyes?"

"Yep."

Hermione took another cleansing breath, vainly attempting to stay the trembling of her hands.

"ZUT ALLORS!" yelped a voice suddenly from the threshold, and her eyes flew involuntarily open.

A terribly unfamiliar girl greeted Hermione's bewildered sight . Her oval face was flushed with excitement, her pink mouth popped slightly open with surprise. Her soft, bright brown eyes widened when Hermione's did, made terribly prominent by the girls' unusual haircut. Her brown locks barely skimmed the tips of the girl's pointed ears, curling softly about her wide, expressive forehead. Its striking brevity emphasized the girl's determined jaw, and her full, rounded cheekbones. Hermione's mouth closed as she continued to consider the face in the mirror. This girl was beautiful, and stylish, and very arresting.

And oddly enough, she was Hermione Granger.

Just as this thought registered in Hermione's confused brain, Fleur Delacour grabbed her round the face and impulsively kissed her forehead. "Oh, my, but your hair! Eet is most beautiful!"

Hermione went red. "It's not -- I mean…"

"Just you wait until ze uzzers see! Zey will die! Zey will faint! Magnifique!"

Fleur appraised Hermione for a few more moments, beaming all over her gorgeous face. "Ron will crap his pants," Ginny volunteered helpfully.

"Ah, mais oui! Bill's youngest bruzzer will melt into your arms. And eef his kisses are anything like his Bill's…" Fleur trailed off delicately, her violet eyes suddenly dreamy and faraway.

Hermione went, if possible, even redder.


	2. Black Haired Boy

Disclaimer: Own nothing. Never have, never will.

Hermione ran a tentative hand through her newly-shorn locks, amazed at how light her head felt. "You really like it?" she asked Ginny with a skeptical half-smile.

Ginny nodded enthusiastically, reaching out to tuck a particularly adventuresome curl behind Hermione's left ear. "You look fantastic!"

Hermione smiled goofily, drawing her red-haired friend into an embrace. "Thank you so much!"

Ginny grinned back, clearly relieved. "I can't believe you trusted me with your hair…I definitely thought you'd gone bug-shaggin' crazy."

Hermione laughed self-consciously. "Momentary lapse of judgment," she admitted. "But it all worked out wonderfully. I love it!" Hermione eagerly examined her reflection in the mirror some more, then suddenly bit her lip. "Though I don't fancy showing it to your mum or…" she trailed off, glancing uncertainly at Fleur, "or-or your dad."

"_Dad_," said Ginny, cottoning on immediately to the source of Hermione's insecurity, "will LOVE it. Trust me. He'll think it's totally sexy."

Fleur wrinkled her smooth, pale brow. "Mr. Weasley will think zis of 'Ermione's hair?"

Ginny clapped her hand to her forehead. "Dear god," she muttered. "No, Fleur…I just meant…oh, never mind!"

Fleur shrugged good-naturedly and, sweeping her mane of silvery hair over one shoulder, air-kissed both girls' cheeks and floated from the room. Hermione and Ginny exchanged poignant looks, then dissolved into giggles, leaning on one another for support.

Ginny broke off in mid-giggle, suddenly very grim. "I completely forgot," she said in a rather hollow voice. "I haven't warned you. Oh, I hate to spoil it for you…the wedding, I mean…but it's got to be done."

A chilly paralysis seized Hermione's limbs as she gazed into Ginny's unsmiling face. "What is it?"

The younger girl walked over to the closet. "Knowing Fleur, she's stowed yours in here. Wanting to surprise you, I suppose…Oh, Merlin, I'm right…of course I'm right…" Without another word, Ginny removed a long, brown plastic dress cover from the closet. "It's your bridesmaid's dress."

Relief crashed over Hermione in waves. "Ginnydon't _scare _me like that!" she cried. "I thought something dreadful had happened. After all, it's only a dress, it can't be that awf…dear GOD!"

Ginny had whipped off the dress cover, revealing a nightmare in toxic green satin and lace. A reluctant smile twitched the corners of her mouth at Hermione's disgusted expression.

"I thought they were supposed to be gold…and…_tasteful_…"

Ginny shrugged. "Fleur changed her mind…She's the psychotic bride-to-be, you know, it's her right…"

Hermione approached the dress cautiously, as though it might contaminate her if she ventured too near. "I thought only you and Gabrielle were bridesmaids," she said half-accusingly, half-hopefully.

"Fleur couldn't bear to leave 'poor 'Ermione out.'" Ginny explained. "I'm sorry."

Hermione gazed in transfixed wonder at the garish garment. "I can't look away," she muttered. "It's like a wreck…a horrible, puffy, radioactive wreck."

Ginny patted Hermione's arm soothingly and slipped the dress cover back on. Hermione blinked a couple of times, and she could have sworn bright spots popped before her eyes. "Let's go downstairs," Ginny proposed. "Mum and Fleur made several jugs of lemonade yesterday, it's really good…"

Hermione seized Ginny's arm convulsively. "Ron's down there."

"Yeah, he probably is," Ginny agreed slowly. "It's okay, Hermione, he's going to like your hair. It's impossible not to. You look so lovely and sophisticated."

Fears slightly mollified, Hermione nodded feebly and followed Ginny out into the narrow hall.

When they arrived at the kitchen, Hermione lingered outside the tiny room, attempting to rally the suddenly inadequate support of her own courage. Her hands toyed incessantly with the curls bobbing springily about her forehead. She practiced several versions of a confident grin, but each clumsily manufactured smile felt tight and forced, even to her. Suddenly Fleur's throaty voice floated out from the kitchen, babbling excitedly,

"She eez vairy grown-up looking, Molly. Oui, she is very much like a young Celestina Warbeck, I think."

"That sounds… very lovely," said Molly, but Hermione sensed a note of uncertainty in her voice.

"I can't believe Hermione cut all of her hair off," interjected Ron. "Seems like a bit of a daft thing to do, if you ask me."

A cold hand suddenly squeezed Hermione's heart, and she abruptly stopped fiddling with her fringe. Ginny's voice spoke up indignantly,

"What would you know about it, you moron?"

"All I'm saying," Ron hastened to defend himself, " is that it's an odd thing to do. People don't normally hack their hair off all at once, do they? I thought it might be some kind of delayed reaction to the…tragedy."

"Hermione hasn't gone crazy," Ginny snapped. "She just wanted a change."

Hermione could almost hear Ron's shrug. "She can do what she likes, I reckon. It's just that I always…sort of…" Hermione strained to hear the next bit, "loved her hair."

Hermione flushed warmly, feeling a surge of affection toward Ron and the first tinges of regret over her hasty actions. _No regrets, _she told herself sternly in an attempt to quell her own misgivings.

Inhaling sharply and quickly stiffening her resolve, she bounced into the kitchen. All conversation ceased immediately, and every pair of eyes turned her way. Bubbling excitement had reddened her round cheeks, and her eyes had brightened from the steely force of her determination. Ron gulped audibly.

"Hello, everyone," Hermione said in what she fancied to be a jaunty voice. Glancing about the kitchen, she absorbed an empowering measure of strength from its homey familiarity. Several pots filled with unknown substances were simmering away on the stove, and the air was redolent with yummy smells.

"Hermione!" cried Mrs. Weasley, rushing over to enfold her in a warm embrace. "Your hair really _is _lovely!"

Hermione laughed at Mrs. Weasley's blunt phrasing, but she was pleased nonetheless.

"I was so afraid Ginny had hacked it to pieces! But no, it's beautiful. You look so…so…_grown-up_."

Mrs. Weasley's velvety brown eyes were suddenly swimming with tears. Hermione choked back an alarmed gasp. Another surge of affection, this time for Ron's mother, overwhelmed her. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," she smiled, hugging her again. Molly hastily dabbed her eyes with the hem of her apron.

"Don't mind my foolishness," she muttered, offering Hermione a wavering smile. "It just seems that all of my little ones are growing up and…and…moving on."

"I don't think you're foolish," said Hermione, surprised at the forceful tone in her own voice. "We _are_ growing up, but that doesn't mean we'll forget the people and the places we love."

Mrs. Weasley brushed a stray tear away with the pad of her thumb. "You're very sweet dear," she told Hermione gratefully, squeezing her forearm. The older woman's face suddenly contorted as if she had breathed in a foul scent, and her grip on Hermione's arm slackened. "Oh, Merlin, _the stew_!" And Molly was off, wand in hand, prepared to leap into the fray.

"You look taller," Ginny commented when the sentimental conclave between her mother and Hermione had finally concluded. "I didn't notice before."

"Thanks. I didn't know that _I_ could look tall," Hermione reflected wonderingly. "But it's nice to know that I do."

Without really thinking, Hermione boldly turned and faced Ron. "So what do you think? Is it gorgeous?" she demanded playfully.

Ron gulped again, his eyes wide. "It's…it's…" He paused, apparently searching the full extent of his vocabulary for an apt term, "_perfect_."

Heat crept along Hermione's neck and stained her cheeks. "Thank you, Ron." His mouth, slightly open with awe, had never looked so kissable. Hermione forced her thoughts from that treacherous path and contented herself with squeezing his hand. Ron squeezed hers in turn, still looking rather dazed.

Ignoring the heady rush inspired by the chaste, terribly brief contact, Hermione released Ron's hand and fiddled with her fringe. "How about that lemonade?" she asked Ginny, sidling toward the other girl and trying to make herself less conspicuous.

Ginny found the icy pitcher under a pile of dishtowels and deftly meted out three glassfuls for herself, Hermione, and Ron. "Would you like a glass, Fleur, Mum?" she demanded. Mrs. Weasley shhed Ginny impatiently. Ginny shrugged and took a long swig from her own glass. "This stuff is so unbelievably good," she declared. "I could drink it every -" Ginny stopped, and every ounce of blood drained from her face.

Hermione lunged toward her, terrified that she might faint, but Ginny held out a restraining arm. "I'm all right," she said tightly. "It's just…Harry's here."

Hermione glanced about wildly, expecting to see Harry sitting calmly in the center of the scrubbed kitchen table. He was nowhere in sight.

"Ginny, where -" Ron began.

"Outside," Ginny bit off tersely. "He only just Apparated. Look out the window."

Hermione looked accordingly. Sure enough, Harry Potter was standing several feet from the Burrow, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, and his face very pale and serious. Arthur Weasley was standing nearby, watching Harry with a furrowed brow. Harry ran a long-fingered hand through his perpetually messy black hair, staring at some spot that the party in the kitchen couldn't see. He seemed to come out of his trance suddenly, however, for he turned abruptly to Mr. Weasley and spoke in hushed tones. Mr. Weasley nodded and made an indistinguishable reply. Harry shrugged and, picking up Hedwig's cage, made his way to the kitchen door.

His decidedly strong knock rang through the kitchen. "Will you get that, dear?" Mrs. Weasley called distractedly over her shoulder. Ron and Ginny exchanged looks. Their mother hadn't referred to a specific 'dear.'

"You do it," Ginny said firmly. Ron hesitated. "_Go_ - just go."

Ron obeyed his sister reluctantly. He threw Hermione an imploring look, and she followed him to the door. She could feel Ron's nervousness as though it was her own. Neither of them knew how Harry would act, and nor were they particularly eager to find out. They had learned to fear Harry's mercurial nature.

When the door opened, Hermione immediately relieved Harry of Hedwig's cage while Ron ushered him inside. Unlike Ron, Harry seemed to have shrunk a little since the previous week. His body seemed to be collapsing in on itself, as though he were attempting to keep every feeling, ever thought, buried deep within. Hermione placed Hedwig on the floor to free up her arms for hugs, forgetting Mrs. Weasley's ironclad rules about cleanliness. Mrs. Weasley rushed over to remove the rather filthy cage from her freshly mopped hardwood, hastily pecking Harry on the cheek in the feverish process.

Harry accepted the kiss and returned it mechanically, but his face was utterly blank throughout the exchange. Hermione shot Ron a worried look, conveying through delicately raised eyebrows a half-frantic, "What's wrong with him?"

Ron silently responded, "Let's find out…"

"So…mate," Ron began in a falsely hearty voice, "how were the Muggles? Pissed off, as usual?"

"We didn't speak," said Harry. His tone was measured, even a little clipped. "I was only there because of the promise I made to Dumbledore. I didn't want to talk to them, and they definitely didn't want to talk to me. Not much else to say."

Hermione and Ron flinched simultaneously as the mention of Dumbledore's name. Harry seemed not to notice. Hermione was appalled by his casual, businesslike tone, which sounded as though he were discussing a particularly dull weather forecast.

"Oh," said Ron; his heartiness had evaporated entirely. "You don't say…?"

Hermione coughed nervously. She cast about for something to say, glancing about the kitchen as she did so. It was then that she noticed Ginny's striking absence.

Before she could comment on this, Mr. Weasley entered the kitchen, carrying Harry's trunk. "I'm going to take this upstairs for you, Harry," he volunteered. His concern for the young boy was evident in every syllable.

"No, that's all right," said Harry hastily. "I'll do it myself." Without another word, Harry grabbed the handle of his trunk and hurried out of the kitchen.

Hermione frowned at Ron. "This is bad," she said simply.

"Bloody awful," he agreed.

Twenty minutes later, after several cups of lemonade, Hermione dragged Ron upstairs to check on Harry. He hadn't returned since he had unceremoniously abandoned them in the kitchen, and Hermione was worried. "He'll be in your room, then?" she asked Ron.

Ron nodded uncertainly as he followed Hermione up to his attic room.

Both Ron and Hermione were utterly floored by the spectacle that greeted them at the top of the narrow flight of stairs.

TBC

Author's note: I love, love, LOVE reviews. This is what I like to call a "broad hint." Thank you so much to connieewing, Nymphadora, 99 Red Balloons, Moon Burst, Emma-Lynn, rywhelan, Scrittore Di Novelle, and electricityscape for the loverly comments. As to why Hermione's hair isn't even MORE frizzy than usual, let's just say Hermione has freaky hair that defies the laws of man and nature! The descriptions of the bridesmaid dresses are blatantly filched from those used in an episode of Buffy: the Vampire Slayer called Hell's Bells. Just so ya know.


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